


nature make a man of me yet

by irene_addling



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drabble, Gen, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-01
Updated: 2014-02-01
Packaged: 2018-01-10 18:46:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1163208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irene_addling/pseuds/irene_addling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A week before the wedding, John leaves work and sees Mycroft's car parked on the curb.</p>
            </blockquote>





	nature make a man of me yet

**Author's Note:**

> Tag-ish thing for Sign of Three, title from the Smiths. (Because we all know Mycroft at least considered something like this.)

A week before the wedding, John leaves work and sees Mycroft's car parked on the curb. Anthea rolls down the window with a smirk, and John knows better than to fight it. The building they end up at is a large, industrial-looking warehouse. It's a bit like where he first met Mycroft, but more like where he met Irene Adler, and John wonders if that was intentional, because with Mycroft it's always intentional.

Mycroft is standing. There's no chairs set up for either of them.

"Good afternoon, John."

John gave a stiff nod. "You could have rang."

"This is not a matter for a telephone. And it would have been _most_ disastrous if you hung up on me." Mycroft shifted, a movement too close to a fidget. "I would tell you to sit down, but it's better to keep this short."

"Out of concern for my time, I expect."

Mycroft ignored him, leaning forward on his umbrella. "Believe it or not, there are some matters in which I prefer not to get involved, including the state of my dear brother's heart." John almost scoffs aloud, but Mycroft plods on. "Surely you most know that I do care deeply for him, despite all our petty quarreling. And we have reached a juncture in which those who care about Sherlock can no longer sit idly by."

John almost laughs at the notion that most of the British government is probably involved in Sherlock's love life by now. The amusement must show on his face, because Mycroft's displays a flash of anger.

"I don't suppose you'll find it so funny when I inform you that my brother is in love with you."

Mycroft's inflection is careful, his timing deadly. He's building up the gravitas of the moment. He expects shock, a long enough silence from John that his glare will pierce the atmosphere.

John just nods. "I know."

Mycroft's eyes widen, but it's the most surprise John's ever seen the man show, so he counts it as a victory. "For a very long time. At least since the Baskerville affair."

"I know."

"He has spent the last two years pining for you across Europe, and more before he even jumped. He dropped his life's work to keep you safe. You are the center of my brother's world."

John nodded again. "I know. I've observed." After the roof, he'd had only time to observe, to think through every conversation with Sherlock again and again. And when Sherlock had came back, the conclusions had been easily confirmed.

Now came that silence Mycroft had been wanting. The other man's hands tightened on his umbrella.

"Therefore, you must know that this wedding is hard enough for him. And making Sherlock write a speech praising you and Ms. Morstan's future happiness, as well as forcing him into a front-row seat for the ceremony itself, can only be described as cruelty."

"And I suppose you have the chaplain on hold, waiting until you convinced me that I should cancel?"

John was being sarcastic, but part of him wasn't even surprised when Mycroft took out his phone, held it up, and very deliberately ended a call on hold.

"You are replacing him. You think that Sherlock with notch neatly into you and Ms. Morstan's life, but Sherlock has no concept of sharing."

"Mycroft, he made me watch him die."

There was another long silence. Mycroft leaned forward again, too close to John's face for his liking. John couldn't decide if the emotion he was seeing was anger or respect.

"I can't love him back, Mycroft."

"You already do. You already did."

"I can't in the way he wants."

A beat. Water dripped from the roof, somewhere far away. Mycroft sneered.

"You are a colder man than I thought, John Watson," and ah, there was the emotion. It was a mix of the two. "Or perhaps just a less forgiving one."

"Or perhaps just a more observant one?"

Mycroft tapped his umbrella. "The car's waiting for you outside."

"I'll walk, thanks."

"I wish you and Ms. Morstan many happy returns, but I will be unable to attend the ceremony due to a personal matter."

"I imagine. I'll give Sherlock your regards."

"If you tell Sherlock of this meeting, I will personally ensure your bankruptcy within twenty-four hours."

"It was worth a shot." John gave Mycroft a nod. "Good seeing you again."

"The pleasure," Mycroft sneered, "was truly all mine.

Outside, it's started drizzling. John turns his heel, picks up his briskest military march, and tries to banish the whole meeting from his mind.

He refuses to let himself feel guilty.


End file.
